Who Molly Hooper Is
by eccentricpetal
Summary: This was not her. This had never been her. This had been him.


**Who Molly Hooper Is.**

**Authors Note: **This was not the story I was planning on writing tonight. But, I have two reasons for writing it now. One, the story I was originally going to write I am thinking of having it become a chapter story. Two, this idea popped in to my hair while I was listening to this song and I thought: 'hey! It's about time I show Molly in a more positive light.' Plus, this is one of my two favourite songs. It truly inspires me. So, I hope you enjoy and reviews are always welcome.  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>I own nothing. I'm not that brilliant. ;)  
>_<p>

"_I stare at my reflection in the mirror.  
>Why am I doing this to myself?<br>Losing my mind on a tiny error.  
>I nearly left the real me on the shelf."<em>

Molly Hooper sat at the vanity in her bitty bedroom, in her heinous house, staring at her reflection mid-sweep of removing her makeup.

She looked like an utter imbecile.

Makeup had never been her thing that is until she had met a certain _fella. _

She chuckled to herself at that thought.

Sherlock Holmes being referred to as a fella was something the brunette had believed she would never live to see; yet here she was being the one to make it a reality, even if only in the depths of her mind.

A week ago, she had received a text message from Dr. John Watson inviting her to his and Sherlock's Christmas Party. Eagerly, she had replied with an affirmative and had spent the next week in preparation for the momentous occasion.

She had spent two days in the midst of Oxford Street trying to find _him _the perfect present and herself a sublime outfit.

She had found his present on the first day, in the first hour, turns out she knew him better than he believed, but her outfit… she didn't find that until the second day, not far from closing time for the shop she was in.

All breath had been taken from her as she stared at the simple yet classy John Lewis dress; she was just sure he'd be as mind blown as she.

So, she had purchased it with a whooping wide grin on her lips before going home to finish planning the rest of her look for the following evening.

Once the party day rolled around, she began her beautying with a simple waxing of her legs. It had gone terribly wrong. She burnt her legs and got the wax stuck to them. She was lucky red patches did not light up her alabaster skin.

She hadn't bothered to finish the job, deciding that shaving was not only a more comfortable option but also, the safer choice.

Once she was satisfied with her hairless appearance, she had moved on to those locks upon her head.

She never curled her naturally wavy hair but tonight she decided the damage was worth it; she needed it to be tame so she didn't look like such a mess to _him_.

So, she curled it and then clipped it back with what she thought was a cute, festive decoration – to show her spirit; to show him what he was missing out on.

Her eyes, she had kept simple.

She lined them in black and coated her lashes in mascara, black.

Her lips, more thought had gone in to them.

Her lips were identical to the wrapping paper caressing his present.

Her lips, she did not like… _they just weren't her_… but for him, they would be perfect.

She liked her earrings even if they were a little over-the-top.

They matched the dress and were ever so pretty… they'd make any girl die from how they glisten in the light.

She had looked in the mirror before grabbing her cab to Baker Street and she had been happy with the reflection.

It may not have been her but she felt beautiful and she just prayed he would like it.

But now, as she sat on the stool against her dresser, she knew the truth.

This was _not _her.

This had never been her.

This had been _him._

And did he deserve this, all this effort?

No.

So, why did she bother; Love?

That seemed a poor excuse as she looked at the natural half of her face and the other which she had coated in makeup, for him.

He knew what kind of person she was.

So, why did he continue to put her down?

He knew she would listen.

Why would he want her to change herself?

Unless, he didn't know her as well as he said he did.

Perhaps, he didn't know she would spend days thinking on some of the hurtful remarks he made to her.

Perhaps, he just didn't realise how he made her lose her mind.

A sigh emitted from her lips and she wiped away the remaining physical evidence of her betrayal to herself.

She picked up her brush and after setting free the clipped back hair, began to let it slip through the teeth; her eyes never once leaving her reflection.

She couldn't do this anymore; she wouldn't do this anymore.

It seemed, to her, the more she tried to be perfect the less it was working.

It was time to move on.

So, she gave up.

That night, in front of her dressing table, she vowed it was the last time.

From now on, it would go the way she knew best.

Molly Hooper would simply be true to who she is.

And that was exactly what she had done.

She had seen Sherlock Holmes the next day and she hadn't been overly friendly with him but he didn't seem to notice.

The next time she saw him though?

Well, he noticed the change in her the instant he stepped foot in to the morgue.

"Molly, I need to see the body of Patrick Jones." He had stated as he burst through the doors.

He watched in curiosity as the morgue attendant hadn't even flinched; she hadn't even looked up at him. She spoke in a simple monotone voice while continuing on with her paperwork for the autopsy she had just performed.

"He's in number thirteen."

Sherlock didn't reply or comment on her strange behaviour towards him, he just went to the number she had stated and pulled out the body.

He didn't think anything else of it as his mind slipped in to deducing mode.

Once he had completed his task, within the minute, he stood back up from his bent position and walked to the door, he needed to tell John this exciting new clue to the case when…

"Can you put Mr Jones back, please." It wasn't a question.

Molly Hooper, sweet, quiet, wouldn't-hurt-a-fly, Molly Hooper was being demanding with him Sherlock Holmes, cold, rude, seeing and observing, Sherlock Holmes.

"Excuse me?" He wasn't quite sure if he had just imagined the whole scene before him, after all she was being rather… off with him. She hadn't once tried to help him since he had arrived, all but three minutes ago.

"You heard me." Her head still hadn't risen from that God damn blasted paperwork.

Now that he thought about, she looked quite different.

Her hair that was usually in a messy ponytail was now upon the top of her head in a swift curve, a stray lock of it curling itself around her cheek.

Her face was completely makeup free; she looked refreshed and just so… natural, even her lips looked good considering they were just about acceptable.

She wore no jewellery and her lab coat hung on the back of the chair.

His eyes skimmed over her clothing to find she wore a light, pink camisole with a form fitting, black skirt that fell just above her knee. Below the skirt she wore black tights and a simple pair of black pumps with a bow decorating their front.

He noted she had not a single hair from Toby lingering on her clothing, nor did she have a single stain from some unfortunate autopsy or coffee spill today.

In his mind, she fell under the category of looking… _perfect _in a natural way he'd never known possible.

"Sherlock," her voice snapped him from his deducing of her current state.

"Hm?"

"Mr Jones. Can you please put him back."

He didn't speak as he walked over to the body of the murder victim and placed him back in to the wall, shutting the door on him.

He turned back to Molly, eyeing her up in an unsure way…

_What was going on right now? _

Molly was once again scribbling away at her paperwork but she could feel his eyes on her. It almost made her laugh.

Only _almost. _

"Do you need something else, Sherlock?" Once again, she didn't look up.

"No."

"Then go, I'm sure John will want to know all of what you've found out."

"Yes."

He still didn't budge.

She looked up at him when she heard no rustling of that ridiculously long coat of his.

"You didn't offer any coffee." He stated.

"Did you want some?"

"Did you?"

She tilted her head to the side, a slight smile appearing on her lips.

"No."

He said nothing more and left through the same doors he had come through.

Molly shook her head and went back to trying to get her paperwork finished.

"But you will want some later."

He was back in the room; his entrance not so dramatic this time.

"Yes."

She didn't look up.

"The case will be over within two hours."

She looked up.

Where was he going with this?

"I'll be back here then with coffee. I'll tell you about it."

With the swish of his coat, he left through those doors once again and this time she knew he wouldn't be returning until two hours passed.

A gentle smile slipped on to her lips.

It seems Sherlock Holmes likes who Molly Hooper is.

**Authors Note: **Well, there it is! I don't believe it came out too unexpected. It was basically what I had planned to happen. I really like it. I hope you do, too. I'm surprised to say that this is six pages, I usually only write about three and a bit but this one, it just flowed. I'm really proud of it. Finally, I'm being nice to Molly. Anyways, the song is Jessie J's _'Who You Are'_ if you didn't know. Reviews would be lovely, so yeah!

Petal.


End file.
